Rewind Forward
by TurningArt
Summary: A series of one shots for post The Loving Kind
1. Therapy

_A/N: This has been sitting in my laptop for ages. I've been so remiss with my stories here. I've had the worst possible break up so lol my woes are far from over._

 _Anyway, here is something that I will update in bits and pieces as a not-so-sequelish series of one shots for_ _ **The Loving Kind**_ _. Someone very wise took the time to send me a private message that she/he personally thinks Quinn and Rachel should have not ended up together because the relationship was toxic. In hindsight, I shouldn't have given it a happy ending because yes, it was a toxic relationship. I think now, I gave it such closure because of my own personal circumstances. But I don't regret what I gave._

 ** _How much for an hour_** _will never be shelved. That much I promise for those who still have hopes for it._

 _If you care to commiserate with my heartache, I'm finally on Tumblr (again) after years of deleting my old one—tragicstorytold._

 _A/N 2: I've had experience with family therapy. This is the closest I can think of. Please bear in mind that different methods exist._

Rachel huffed in annoyance because Quinn was once again being, well, Quinn— closed, derisive, and stubborn. All these, while precious minutes were being wasted for their hour and a half, once a week, marriage counselling.

The blonde crossed her leg, rested her elbow over her thigh, and cupped her cheek in a display of boredom. "We've gone through over and over, doctor. It's a never ending issue. I don't understand why she _still_ blames herself for my accident—it's been a hundred years since that happened."

Dr. Abbot, their psychiatrist, gingerly raised his hand, effectively stopping Rachel from a potential tirade. The brunette sank to her seat and rolled her eyes. The graying senior doctor gave the diva a smile then turned his attention once more to Quinn. "How exactly does Rachel show her guilt?"

"Where do I begin?" Quinn drawled. "From the time she pretended to be attracted to me right after the accident or—"

"That's not fair!" Rachel stamped her foot, along with her protestation, for good emphasis. "We've _fixed_ that issue."

"I'm _not_ saying we haven't gone past that chapter, Rachel," the blonde replied haughtily. "Dr. Abbot asked _how_ you show guilt, and it's only proper for me to clarify."

The marriage counselor cleared his throat in an attempt to referee the brewing conflict. "Let's take a step back, shall we?" And in what seemed like an eternal pause, the doctor waited for the couple to both nod in agreement before continuing. "Alright, my understanding is, Rachel realized her attraction to you, Quinn, while you were in the hospital—"

" _No_ , Doctor Abbot, no, no, no," the blonde emphatically denied amidst Rachel's dramatic groan. "It _all_ started when my best friend opened her huge mouth-in a fit of panic-told Rachel about my feelings—"

"What are those?"

"That I was in love—"

" _Was_?!"

Quinn gestured wildly in frustration. "I still _am_ ," she said pointedly, before a subtle assurance was thrown Rachel's direction by way of a genuine, albeit, small smile. "We're talking about— _anyway_ , as I was saying, Santana— _that_ traitor of a best friend—told Rachel because she thought I was going to die blah blah blah. And _that's_ when Rachel began treating me differently."

"Quinn—"

"Rachel," Dr. Abbot interrupted, "let's give Quinn the time to talk, and then you'll get to give your perspective on these events after."

"And then what?" Both women asked simultaneously.

"Then we process all of these, find a common ground, hopefully lead to greater understanding. Marriage counseling is not for me to find solutions—that's really on you two. I can only guide you to a direction you may or may not opt to take. Of course, the ultimate goal is to save this marriage, and we must not lose sight of that."

"Three years. I can't believe we're here after three years," Quinn uttered.

"If you count the fact that we have lived together for years back in college and—we've been practically married forever— minus a few years of you spreading your wings to the benefit of New York's finest lesbians and bisexuals," Rachel bit back.

"Hey! I slept with _only_ —"

"I do _not_ want to hear how _many_."

"It _seems,_ " the psychiatrist interjected, "there are layers of issues we need to peel slowly. So let's continue with Quinn's perspective on the accident, first—and as promised Rachel," he smiled at the diva, "you'll have your time as well."

"Right," Quinn nodded then breathed deeply. "I really don't like retelling this—I—there's just a lot of things that—but okay, okay, that's what we're here for," she mumbled before sighing in surrender.

The blonde gnawed her lips nervously and refused to look at her wife. She knew Rachel too well. She knew that Rachel's on the verge of crying; equally broken by the knowledge that their bond is dangerously weakening once more. It was Rachel who first acknowledged this glaring fact. Quinn, of course, was the master of denial. Her refusal to admit that problems are piling up were fueled by her fear of losing Rachel once more and her own parents' broken marriage. Her apprehension was also aggravated by Rachel's fragility in relation to the Berry men's own divorce.

"I've always _been_ in love with her," Quinn started over, visibly more relaxed than the beginning of the session. "I mean, well, not always—I—"

"When did you begin to develop feelings towards her?"

Quinn scratched her head and laughed. "I really can't pinpoint the exact moment. I just began realizing it junior year, then went on a panic mode…then I just came to full acceptance latter part of senior year. By that time, Finn…Rachel was too in love with him that, well, she wanted to marry him."

"So you just kept it to yourself?"

The blonde shook her head. "Well, Santana...but I had no intention of telling Rachel."

"Why?"

"Because Rachel was in love with _him_. I mean, Finn. She…uh, he's gone now.

"Gone as in?"

Quinn rubbed her forehead and glanced at the brunette. Rachel instinctively reached for her wife's hand and gripped it tight. "He passed away," the brunette said, her words clipped.

The psychiatrist nodded sagely and waited for Quinn to continue. She stared at the doctor as silence enveloped the room. Exhaling loudly, the blonde looked down and massaged her temple, realizing what the stillness was for. "Right, going back…I was afraid of rejection. More specifically, I was afraid of Rachel rejecting me. There were many reasons—I just couldn't handle the thought. I _knew_ she would."

"What reasons?"

"I bullied her. I was—you know, stupid high school hierarchy—I was the head cheerleader and Rachel—Rachel was…she was everyone's favorite person to make fun of. I mean," Quinn smiled nervously, "She was the daughter of the most known, openly gay, couple in Lima. That…that in itself gave her unwanted attention. And she was, she was very sure of herself—her talent—that was her ticket to anywhere but Lima. And _everyone_ wanted out."

"Most especially you?"

She gave a genuine smile this time, amused at the psychiatrist's ability to read between the lines. "Most especially me," she repeated in confirmation. "I guess it started as envy," she shrugged, "then I, uhm—does this have to be in detail?"

"If you believe it to be relevant, those details have to be openly discussed, then."

"Right. After a series of …encounters, I began to, uh," the blonde closed her eyes in embarrassment. "Notice her…physical attributes. Like, like, yeah—I found myself consciously stopping myself from thinking about her…you know."

"No, I don't know," Rachel said quietly, breaking her promised silence.

"You _know_ ," Quinn said through her gritted teeth.

"No…I don't," the diva said with a smirk lurking around the corner.

"Her lips…more specifically kissing them," the blonde begrudgingly admitted. "I couldn't—her face just kept popping up no matter how I tried to… it was frustrating. I became angrier at her…at myself, then at her again, then—it was an exhausting pendulum of emotions. Until I wasn't angry anymore."

The counselor nodded in understanding. "What made you stop being angry?"

"My acceptance. When I finally understood where all the anger was coming from—anger towards Rachel, I mean."

"But that did not make you face her."

"No…no, like I said, she was—Finn proposed to her and she said yes, and uh," Quinn gave Rachel a quick side-glance, "it sort of created a friction between the two of us. I didn't—our friendship was the only thing I had of her. That's why I agreed—last minute—to attend her wedding."

"And then the accident happened."

Both women nodded solemnly and an eerie silence took over, allowing the counselor to write down a few things in his pad.

"I never blamed you, Rachel. You know that," Quinn quietly said.

"I know, Quinn," Rachel sighed.

The psychiatrist paused from his note taking and shifted his focus on the brunette. "Why do feel responsible for the accident?"

The diva frowned. "I made her go to my wedding. If I had not done that, she wouldn't have almost died."

"But Quinn is here, alive and seemingly well. She is," the doctor opened a Manila folder and bristled through some papers, "a student of sociocultural anthropology in Columbia." The doctor looked up and gave a grinning approval, "Master's Degree, huh?"

Quinn leaned forward and exclaimed, " _That_ is _exactly_ what I've been telling her! I'm alright and—"

"Quinn, you're not!" Rachel interrupted with equal ferocity. "You," Rachel paused and breathed deeply to effectively calm herself. "You're not."

It was the blonde's turn to be refereed by the counselor in order to give the diva time to talk. Quinn gripped her knees and turned away, refusing to look at her wife.

"How could I not be burdened by this guilt, doctor? I see my wife grimace and wince in pain the moment the weather gets cold, or she makes a wrong step."

"It's a _natural_ occur—"

"It's _not_ natural for you to feel that much pain, Quinn. And it certainly isn't natural for you to constantly try and hide it from me."

"I try to hide it from you because I know that this is _exactly_ why you feel guilty. I'm telling you—I've been trying to assure you—that it's something I can live with."

"Can you please tell her to let me talk for now?" Rachel huffed petulantly.

The blonde raised her hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, okay, okay. Go ahead."

"Thank you." The diva sat up straight with more confidence. "It's not _just_ that. You still get nightmares. While you refuse to talk to me about them, it's not like I don't hear the words you mumble in your sleep. Those horrible dreams were about the accident, one way or another. I know there are a number of times you've lost sleep after being jolted awake. And…and I know there are times you get panic attacks that's why you've stopped driving again."

"Rachel, which is why I have a separate therapy for that. Recovery is a long road."

"I _know_ that. But I'm being asked to explain _why_ I feel this heavy guilt. Because I see all these things, Quinn. I see how you're struggling and I—these things, you don't deserve these things. And yet they're yours to deal with. And it's all because of _my_ request."

"Rachel—"

"I'm not done, sweetheart."

"I—okay, I'm sorry."

"When me make love—"

"Rach!" Quinn groaned and covered her face in embarrassment. She felt the burning of her face and was more than sure she was redder than tomato at that point. "That's an unnecessary detail", she hissed.

"It _isn't_ unnecessary," Rachel countered with a hint of a playful smile. "As I was saying, when we make love, I see your scars—"

"They disgust you?!"

"Far from it, Quinn! Will you let me finish?"

Dr. Abbot cleared his throat as a not-so-subtle attempt of refereeing, nodded and took notes again; effectively making the squabbling lovers silent and curious. Both women aped each other's expression as they stared at the unintimidating man in front of them. "Oh," the psychiatrist finally looked up, "go on."

Rachel glared at Quinn for good measure before proceeding. "Your scars remind me of a time when I got so lost." Her shoulders sagged and muttered sadly, "and hurt you badly in the process. You're perfect to me, Quinn, scars and all."

"May I ask a question?" Dr. Abbot interjected and waited for the two women's consent before moving forward. "Quinn, have you verbally told Rachel you've forgiven her about the accident?"

"There is _nothing_ to forgive, Dr. Abbot. It _wasn't_ her fault!"

Rachel swiftly reached out for Quinn's hand; cold and shaking. "Sweetheart, please don't lose your—"

"I'm _not_ mad," Quinn said hotly. "It's just _so_ frustrating that we keep going back to _that_."

"Why do you think it keeps going back to that incident?"

The blonde took a deep breath and closed her eyes, mentally counting to ten. She focused on Rachel's soothing touch. "I guess," she finally said after feeling a lot calmer, "I guess…" She sighed, "Our relationship is anchored on that. I…I wish it isn't the case."

"But it is. And the two of you seems to see that incident differently…except the part where it jumpstarted your romantic involvement."

"Which in itself was rather problematic," Quinn laughed humorlessly.

"Oh for the love of—"

" _That_ ' _s_ for another session, would that be alright?" The doctor said with a gentle tone.

"Actually, no." Rachel countered. "I need to get something off my chest, and then…and then I agree we shelve it for another time. But _this_ has to be said."

"Hmm, Quinn?"

"Sure, go ahead," Quinn sighed in exhaustion.

"I've gone through lengths to make that up to you, Quinn. I _know_ even up to now, doubt still lingers if you have a hundred percent of me. But just so we're _so_ clear on this matter, I love _you_. I want _you_. This may come across as very shallow, but everything you do turns me on—"

"Rachel." The blonde sank slowly in her seat like an embarrassed child. "I don't think—"

The diva however deliberately ignored her wife's plea. "I don't pretend to understand a single thing you do for your career. Everything you write about is Greek to me…or, or Chinese—whichever is more difficult to learn—but dear god, that last conference you made me sit through because you delivered a lecture—"

"A paper."

"That. I couldn't think of anything except attacking you on stage and make love to you right _there_."

"I…Rachel, uh, maybe you should, uhm…" Quinn glanced at the doctor. To her relief, the psychiatrist kept a professional facade and showed no hint of his own thoughts about Rachel's outburst.

"Don't _you_ get it? When you wear your glasses, I get turned on. When I see your eyebrows knitted, you absentmindedly chewing your lip, and whirling your pen over your thumb, I get turned on. When you're _just_ sitting there all embarrassed, I. Get. Turned. On. I see a Moleskin, I think of you. I come across small coffee shops, I think of you. So forgive me if I feel like _I'm_ the one who doesn't have you a hundred percent because you're living in the past."

Rachel then exhaled loudly, "But that's for another time."


	2. Domesticity

She woke up extremely early on a Saturday— a good hour ahead of Quinn— so she can make her girlfriend a nice full brunch. Rachel believed that Quinn had been putting undue pressure on herself with her studies. She knew better than to call out the blonde's behavior because that would be hypocritical of her since she was equally focused on building her Broadway career. Nothing ever came easy for their chosen fields, and both girls knew that there was no other way but to put in the hours of hard work and dedication.

The actress had it all planned out: brunch in bed, sex, a few hours of TV time, and more sex. In the middle of controlling her urges and flipping vegan pancakes, she heard a sound of someone tripping followed by a muffled groan then a series of inaudible curses. "Who left these stupid books on the—oh. Me."

Rachel fought the urge to laugh and instead knelt on the floor to help pick up the books. "I'm sorry, I should've cleared that out but—"

"No, no. Not your fault," Quinn sighed. "It's the books' fault for blocking my way," the blonde said with a playful smile. She crawled towards Rachel and puckered her lips, "Gimme my morning kiss, angel face."

"Well, someone's obviously not hurt. Now let me go back to cooking pancakes in peace," Rachel said in faux annoyance and gave the blonde a chaste kiss.

"I knew I smelled something good."

Rachel held her hand and pulled the other girl up. "It was meant as a surprise. Why are you up early anyway?"

"I'm actually late for errands."

The brunette's face dropped quickly in disbelief. "What errands?"

"Uh, let's see. Dry cleaners, then grocery…" Quinn enumerated her list of things to do like it was programmed in her head. Or maybe it really was. Quinn was the mistress of keeping everything together. While Rachel dramatically matured when it comes to their domesticity, the blonde still maintained most of the control.

"…oh, and I might have to drop by—"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're—no. Saturday is _not_ errand day."

"It's…always been—"

"Well, not _today_ ," the brunette huffed petulantly.

Quinn's face paled in fear. "I…wait, it's not your birthday."

"No, of course _not_. I wouldn't be cooking for _you_ if it is _my_ birthday."

"Right," Quinn nodded slowly while desperately trying to remember if there was anything special that she had forgotten. "It's…not our anniversary, is it?"

"We don't _have_ an official anniversary. Which is something we need to figure out by the way."

"Okay, I give up," the blonde said in surrender, eyes closed and hands help up. "Please don't kill me if I have forgotten that today was the day we first kissed, or…or we made love…or—"

"You're mocking me, Quinn Fabray."

"I'm not, baby," the blonde cooed as she took a step closer towards Rachel. She wrapped her arms around the frowning brunette and attempted to placate her by kissing her weak spot right below her ear. "Now, tell me what's so special about this day that I have to give up grocery shopping for?"

"Sex marathon day."

"Sex…marathon..."

"Day. I'm declaring Saturdays as Sex-a-thon days."

The blonde hesitated to move or say anything until Rachel cleared her throat. "We're…we're scheduling sex now?"

"Because it's been twelve days and seven hours since we last did it."

"I—no, that's not—"

"Yes, it is," Rachel said evenly. "Yes. It. Is."

"I'm…sorry?"

The actress burrowed her face into Quinn's chest and sighed deeply. "It's no one's fault, really. We've been so…busy with our respective studies. I'm grateful that you're equally driven but I feel like we have an erotic deficit—don't you dare laugh at me, Quinn," Rachel giggled after hearing the blonde snort, "you're the one who first used that term."

"Yes, talking about a book I've read." The taller girl laughed good-naturedly, foregoing a part of her that wanted to correct the usage of the concept. They can have their own language as a couple, after all. "I had never imagined you or me using it to describe our intimacy." She ran her fingers through the brunette's hair in a soothing manner. "But…if, uhm, you really think we have, uh, sex deficit—"

"You're all red, Quinn."

"Shut up."

"After all these years, you still balk at talking about our sex life," the brunette teased.

The comment further aggravated the other girl. "For your information, we have _just_ gotten back together approximately eight months ago and prior to that we haven't exactly been at it like rabbits. I had very little experience during our break—contrary to what you think but let's not talk about that— and you of all people should know my background. So forgive me if I haven't successfully exorcised all my puritanical demons away, either."

Rachel blinked. "Wow…that was quite an exposition. For someone who hasn't had caffeine yet."

"I want my pancakes. And coffee," Quinn huffed grumpily.

"And I want my sex-a-thon."

"And I need to feed you this week."

"Are you seriously giving up the opportunity for a day of pure debauchery for purchasing legumes?!"

"I can't believe you're depriving me of a healthy sexual life for legumes," Rachel mumbled.

"Rachel, baby, it's been _hours_ , and you're still chanting that. In public, no less." Quinn pursed her lips to hide her amusement and embarrassment. "Here, eat this, it will make you feel better."

" _You_ think by bringing me to Le Pain Quotidien, I will be placated?"

"No…you followed me around while running errands. And I usually end up taking a break here."

"Because I had to see how enticing these ever-so-important errands are—you never mentioned that to me."

"Which?"

"This. Here. Central Park."

Quinn smiled sheepishly. "Because it's nothing special. Just some 'me' time."

"That's important," Rachel muttered sadly. "Do you feel the need for more 'me' time?"

"Hey." The blonde reached out for the other girl's hand. "It's a half-hour coffee break, Rach. I didn't mean away from you. We barely have enough time for each other. I wouldn't want more time away from you, okay?"

"And yet you chose buying leg—"

"Do you have _any_ idea how challenging it is to make everything vegan?" Quinn laughed loudly; hazel eyes danced with delight. "I constantly need to summon the recipe gods or we'll be eating boiled _lentils_ for a week."

Rachel suddenly ran out of words. She didn't feel chastised or burdened with guilt by the blonde's hard work in keeping up with her lifestyle. Unlike before, s _he_ wasn't being chastised. There was something oddly radiant about Quinn and she couldn't believe she missed it. Not once did Quinn raise her voice, not even when she felt defensive about her shyness when it comes to sexual conversations. It had been like that ever since they have gotten back together. She found herself mirroring her girlfriend's smile.

"Rach? You know I enjoy taking care of—"

"If it means making you scream my name over and over, I'll happily eat salted broccoli for a _month_."

"Well, you should've made that very clear instead of dropping hints that my chickpea wrap was an epic failure."

"It wasn't…that bad."

"Sure, baby. Sure." Quinn suddenly scrunched up her face and turned to look at some people walking by. "I miss you, too. That way. Has it…really been twelve days and—"

"Fourteen hours now, yes."

The blonde nodded solemnly. "That's about to end."

"Are you sure you don't need to drop by the rug cleaners, or have something upholstered?"

"Now that you mentioned it, there is—"

"Oh for the love of—" Rachel stood up and dragged a deviously guffawing blonde girl away from the bakery. It's been twelve days since they last made love, yes. But more importantly, the brunette didn't feel the need to remind Quinn that exactly—not approximately— eight months ago, they had decided to give their turbulent relationship another try. Quinn held Rachel tightly while the brunette dragged the taller girl's beloved portable grocery cart.

They were moving forward.


	3. Step one

Rachel watched the world slowly pass by. Okay, a few couples and some joggers at Central Park to be exact. Quinn, on the other hand, was slumped over their table— making it visibly clear how exhausting it is to go through couple's therapy. The brunette saw from the corner of her eye pale and slender fingers inching closer to her arm, not stopping until it reached its final destination. Without turning to face her wife, Rachel gave a small smile while relishing the velvety touch that was invading her personal space.

"Baby," Quinn whined. "Talk to me."

"We had all the chances in the world to talk earlier, sweetheart."

"Yeah, in front of grandpa psychiatrist," the blonde grumbled in response, finally sitting up straight and taking a sip from her warm coffee. After a few seconds, she went back to sulking.

Rachel unsuccessfully maintained her façade of seriousness. She reached out to pinch Quinn's cheek. "You are infuriatingly adorable."

"I love you," the blonde said abruptly.

Rachel was taken aback by the off-tangent remark. "I know baby," the actress smiled sadly. "I know."

Quinn worried her lip at Rachel's reaction. "It's not enough, huh?"

"It's _more_ than enough—Quinn, that's…that's never been the issue. And are we _really_ going to have this talk right now?" Rachel laughed at her wife's sense of timing. The whole hour they were at counseling, wasting dollars per minute, the blonde stunner displayed all manners of hostility at discussing their problems.

"What's wrong about _now_?"

"We're at your favorite café. Where every single regular knows you. Really, for someone who is fiercely guarded and takes extra precaution for her privacy, you want to discuss this within eavesdropping distance?"

"Would you care to take one of the random benches near the pond?" Quinn drawled. "Huddle up to warm each other while we whisper intimacy issues?"

Rachel raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Actually, that would be _very_ romantic."

The blonde unexpectedly broke into a smile, "Okay. Then maybe we can make out after."

"What are we, fifteen?"

"Had we been dating back when we were fifteen, it would have been under the bleachers."

Rachel gasped in faux indignation. "Could you at least have chosen somewhere less crass?"

"Janitor's closet?"

"More sanitary."

"Auditorium backstage?"

"Hmm…that _would_ have been a possibility."

"So are the park benches." Quinn stood up and held Rachel's hand. "Come on, let's take a walk." The blonde woman clasped their hands together and tucked them inside her coat pocket. The stage actress felt warm all over despite the biting cold autumn air. She had long decided that simple public displays of affection on Quinn's part was her favorite thing in the world. And while they were walking aimlessly and in silence, Rachel noted that Quinn seemed more relaxed; deep in thought, yes, but not sullen.

"Do you think…things would have been easier if…I had the courage to tell you how I felt? Back when we were, you know, juniors."

Rachel mulled over the question and found her mind transporting them back to McKinley. "I don't…you said it yourself, Quinn. You barely understood what you were feeling. And…I really can't say how I would've reacted. I think…it would've been not as simple as how we see it in hindsight now. Everything always seems easier when we look back, right?"

"Or maybe it's just really me." Quinn sighed and motioned them to sit down. She didn't try to hide to surprise when Rachel started massaging her damaged knee. "How did—"

"I told you I _know_ that it hurts when the weather gets colder. You really don't have to keep it as a secret anymore, sweetheart."

The blonde bowed her head and stared at her partner's hand attempting to soothe the numbing pain she had grown accustomed to. Tears began to build up and eventually fell without warning. "I can take that kind of pain. It's when you look at me with guilt that I—"

"Quinn, I'll always feel some form of guilt for making you go to my wedding—that wedding, not ours, of course." Rachel said softly before joining her wife into fits of giggles.

"I think I can distinguish which wedding you're talking about." Quinn said in jest. She then reached out for the singer's hand and kissed it. "How do I make the guilt go away? How do I convince you that it was all on me? My decision to rush, my decision to respond to your text…they're all on me. Do I really have to pardon you for something you've never done?"

"It's—I think it goes deeper than that. It's really," Rachel sighed, "I didn't listen to you. I didn't stop and listen to you closely. You've been—so many messages you sent, so many signals. I was blind and it's more than the accident, Quinn. All the pain I have caused you…"

"You _never_ made me fall in love, Rachel," Quinn smiled. "It's not like you seduced me then left me hanging. I just did. I fell in love, without you trying. It happened. Whatever pain you caused me wasn't because of the idea that you failed to realize my feelings for you. It wasn't even about you getting married with someone else."

Rachel frowned in confusion. "It wasn't about him?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You can actually say his name, you know? But to answer your question, yeah it was a lot about him. But it wasn't because I was jealous. I think…when I fully understood my feelings for you, I also simultaneously felt surrender that I won't have you. So it's not that. It's because I truly believed he was stealing your future away. Maybe without malice, but still, you know? I just couldn't stand _that_. So yes, I felt an immense amount of pain. But it didn't come from you _not_ loving me back."

Rachel's eyes widened at her partner's confession. "You never really thought I was capable of loving you back, huh?"

"Out of all the things I said," the blonde laughed. "Rach, role reversal. Honestly. If you were the bully cheerleader who realized you wanted to be with the very person you tortured for some time, would you have felt any hope that your feelings would be returned?"

"I—maybe—well you know—I…guess not," the actress agreed sadly.

"So can you imagine how utterly confused I was with your advances? Then I would see you look at Finn with longing expression. Then you'd try to kiss me. That was…quite a rollercoaster ride."

"I—"

"I understand why you thought it was the best course of action, Rach. But I realize now that regardless of what your intentions were…I would have still behaved the way I did. It wasn't about you, Rach. It was how I reacted—how I react to things. I—"

"Quinn…"

"No," the blonde said in between new batch of tears. "God, I hate crying. I look crazy laughing then crying right now." she added while roughly wiping her eyes. "I look—"

"You're still pretty when you cry," Rachel murmured.

"Liar."

"You, of all people, should know I'm terrible at lying. And _you_ know I'm not lying right now," the brunette grinned triumphantly.

The blonde nodded several times in agreement then sighed heavily. "I've hurt you so much, Rach. And before you even utter the words 'I deserved it', I'm telling you, you _didn't._ You didn't deserve any of what I have done. There were a thousand ways I could've dealt with things, but I chose the path of hurting you."

Rachel rested her head on her wife's shoulder and closed her eyes. "We both chose that path, Quinn." She played with her wedding band before holding her hand up for Quinn to see. "But look where we ended."

"In couple's therapy?"

"Wise-ass," the brunette snorted.

Ignoring her partner's comment, Quinn smiled proudly at the wedding band she chose. She breathed out, "It looks so good on you, don't ever take it off."

The weight of those words were not lost on her. She shut her eyes tightly to fight off the urge to cry at the vulnerability of their situation. Wrapping her arms around the blonde's neck, Rachel kissed every inch of skin she could cover. "I don't ever want to."

Quinn let out a shaky sigh of relief. "I'll be better for you. I'll figure things out. I'll—"

"Shut up. Shut up," Rachel cried out softly.

"R-rach?"

" _We_ will be better. _We_ will figure things out, Quinn. We. It's _we_. You better get used to it. Because this ring I'm wearing _has_ a partner. And if I'm never gonna take this off, you better not take off yours, either."

The taller girl nodded in understanding. "We...I don't know why it's taking me so long to—"

"Because you're the most stupidly... stubborn person I've ever met, Quinn Fabray," Rachel whined. "You're _so_ frustrating."

Quinn gasped then laughed loudly at her wife's surprising attempt at imitating her voice. The blonde then kissed her wife's pouting lips and let it linger. "Is this my cue to say we'll get it right?"


End file.
